


When You Are In A Garden, Which Flowers Do You Pick?

by Slytheringirle



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enjolras is hurting, Established Relationship, Fluff, General Lamarque is dead, Grantaire comforts him, Grantaire is a good boyfriend, M/M, There are hugs, there’s a Harry Potter marathon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-04-06 14:24:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19064470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slytheringirle/pseuds/Slytheringirle
Summary: After being sick for weeks, General Lamarque is finally dead. Enjolras had been close to him, so when he recieves the news of his death,he is devestated. Grantaire comforts him..Written in honour of General Lamarque’s death.





	When You Are In A Garden, Which Flowers Do You Pick?

**Author's Note:**

> I know General Lamarque died on the first of June, but I wasn’t able to post it yesturday. And I’m aware that fics before 1k should probably be published on Tumble, but I always get bummed when I post fics there.

“General Lamarque is dead,” breathed Enjolras as he closed his eyes and tilted his head upwards, allowing the sun to bath him in its glow. A lone tear rolled down his cheek but Grantaire made no move to wipe it. Sad as he might be that his lover was hurting, grief had a strange effect on him, it manifested his beauty. 

“He has been sick for weeks now,” he said, walking up to Enjolras and wrapping an arm around his shoulder. “You knew that was going to happen.”

“Yeah,” Enjolras opened his eyes and turned to him, wrapping his arms around his shoulder and burying his face in the crook of his neck. “But it doesn’t make it any easier.” His voice broke and he broke into violent sobs that racked his body.

“I know,” he whispered, locking his arms around him. “I know.” And he did. His mother was diagnosed with cancer four years before she died, and even though he had four years to accept her death, it had still come as a shock. He could only imagine what Enjolras was feeling, a few weeks to deal with death seemed cruel. He rubbed soft circled around Enjolras’s back in hopes of comforting him. He was aware that their friends were looking at them, their faces masks of sorrow. They were all sad about Lamarque’s death, but Enjolras had been the closest to him, they’d met up to discuss rallies as well as recent political moves, the man had become Enjolras’s mentor, and for Enjolras to see him dead… Saying the grief is unimaginable would be an understatement.  

"Why is it that only the good people die?" Enjolras asked between sobs, his voice muffled against his neck.

"Everyone dies, Enj." He murmured, though he knew what he meant. The good people always die first, die young.

"But why him? Why now?" His sobbing had started to calm down, but the heartbreak was evident in his voice.

"When you're in a garden, which flowers do you pick?"

Enjolras didn't answer, but another wave of sobs overtook him, and that was enough proof that he'd understood. The most beautiful ones. You pick the most beautiful flowers, the ones that shine the brightest. And perhaps it was unfair, but when had life ever been fair?

They sat like that for a while, Enjolras crying and Grantaire rubbing comforting circles around his back. Their friends had left a couple of minutes ago, Jehan saying something about being downstairs to give them some privacy.

"I'm sorry," said Enjolras atlas, pulling back. "I shouldn't have broken down like that." He buried his hands in his pockets and turned to face the window, refusing to look at him.

"You don't have anything to apologise for," he said firmly. "We don't hide anything from each other, remember?"

Enjolras looked at him over his shoulder, a smile lighting up his features. "I do," he said softly, "and I wasn't apologising to you. I was apologising-" he turned around fully and his broke off mid-sentence. "Where is everyone?" He asked with a frown.

"They're downstairs," he answered with a smile of his own. "Do you want to go to them?"

"I- Yeah, I need to address them anyways. We have to plan the next rally, with Lama-" His bloodshot eyes teared up and he closed them for a moment in an attempt to regain his composure. "With recent events, we have a chance of achieving our goal."

"Enjolras," he said, placing a hand over the leaders sleeved arm. "You don't have to do anything. Not for today at least, no one will blame you."

Enjolras looked like he was about to argue with him for a moment before the fight deflated out if him, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "That sounds good," he said with a sad smile.

**. . .**

Once they were home, Grantaire forced Enjolras onto the couch that he’d formed a nest of blankets and throw pillows on. He then slipped Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s stone into the DVD and turned off the lights before nestling in with Enjolras. Nothing like a Harry Potter marathon for Enjolras to cry during, they could cuddle and pretend that he was crying over Hedwig or something, even though that was scene was far. He could cry over Sirius or Cedric, their deaths were closer. But he knew that Enjolras will pretend to cry over Professor Quirrell.

“Thank you,” whispered Enjolras a few hours later as Dumbledore spiraled down to his death.

He smiled in the darkness, knowing that Enjolras couldn’t see him and rubbed his cheek against his affectionately, not letting go of his hold on him. The top left side of his shirt was soaked, and he couldn’t help but agree that Dumbledore’s death was devastating.

**Author's Note:**

> Don’t forget the comments and kudos! :)  
> .  
> Check out my tumblr [@enjolraire-is-canon](https://enjoltaire-is-canon.tumblr.com/%22)


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